


Purple Heart

by drunk_on_hahn (iahnhiatm)



Category: Grey's Anatomy, West Wing
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-26
Updated: 2010-07-26
Packaged: 2017-10-12 06:02:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/121621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iahnhiatm/pseuds/drunk_on_hahn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erica Hahn and Toby Zielger are inextricably connected by the events in season 1 episode 10: "In Excelsis Deo".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Purple Heart

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

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[story](http://community.livejournal.com/no_guts_glory/tag/story), [vertical bingo](http://community.livejournal.com/no_guts_glory/tag/vertical%20bingo), [west wing](http://community.livejournal.com/no_guts_glory/tag/west%20wing)  
  
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**Title:** Purple Heart  
 **Author:** drunk_on_hahn  
 **Crossover:** Erica Hahn and The West Wing  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Beta:** dbc_chameleon  
 **Word Count:** approximately 2400  
 **Disclaimer:** on [](http://community.livejournal.com/no_guts_glory/profile)[**no_guts_glory**](http://community.livejournal.com/no_guts_glory/)  side bar

 **A/N:** This story builds upon an iconic [military funeral](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SXlPSXuJFDQ) scene from season 1 episode 10: "In Excelsis Deo" of The West Wing.  References are also made to parts of season 7, including episode 1 "The Ticket" and episode 21 "Institutional Memory". 

The training requirements for cardiothoracic surgeons and the concept of a protective emotional full-metal jacket are based on "Healing Hearts: A Memoir of a Female Heart Surgeon", by Kathy E. Magliato, MD.  Verbatim quotes from the book are included in **_bold italic_** and other references are denoted by HH with corresponding page numbers.

Special thanks to  [](http://dbc-chameleon.livejournal.com/profile)[**dbc_chameleon**](http://dbc-chameleon.livejournal.com/) for creating the banner and the image of Arlington National Cemetery included within the story.

~~~~~

"Dr. Erica Hahn to see Professor Ziegler," spoken with my most authoritarian surgeon voice.

"Is he expecting you?"

"No, just tell him Dr. Hahn, niece of Walter Huffnagel is here to see him."

"Just a minute please."

I wondered what exactly I was expecting to happen.  Why would this former White House Communications Director even remember my uncle's name, let alone choose to meet with me in the midst of his busy schedule teaching courses at Columbia University?

As I prepared to do the familiar thing and just walk away, the receptionist interrupted my thoughts.

"Professor Ziegler will see you now."

"Dr. Hahn, nice to meet you, please have a seat."

"Please, call me Erica."

He gave her a sad reticent smile.

"Toby, please call me Toby as well."

He gestured to a well-worn leather chair.  The office was filled floor to ceiling with books, political science texts, presidential biographies, interesting titles about anarchy, civil rights, women's rights, and a well-worn paperback titled "Speaking Truth to Power."  If books could tell you something about a man, these titles certainly piqued my interest.

I came back to the present moment and realized that Toby was quietly waiting for me to emerge from my thoughts and engage him in conversation.

"It has just been brought to my attention recently that you showed my late uncle a great kindness by personally arranging a military funeral and honor guard for him over ten years ago."

"Yes, I did.  It was my privilege to do it."

My thoughts wandered back again to my Uncle Walter and his younger brother George.  My uncle was a Korean War Vet who was injured in combat and received a Purple Heart.  Apparently that honor was what led up to him receiving such a dignified ending to his difficult and challenging life.  I will be forever grateful to Uncle Walter for stepping up to raise me till I was eighteen after my mother died suddenly when I was a very young girl.  I never knew my biological father as he left town before I was born.  Walter took me in to live in his modest caretaker cottage with George.  George had a learning disability and a childlike demeanor that made him feel more like a brother then an uncle to me while I was growing up.

Uncle Walter served as a father figure for both of us, even though communicating was difficult for him at times. With Dr. Wyatt's help, I came to realize later in life that he likely suffered from bouts of depression and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  Somehow he kept it all under control enough to see me through high school and once I went off to college we began to drift apart.

By the time I went to med school, Uncle Walter and George had left our dusty hometown and drifted from place to place along the east coast searching for permanent work and basic lodging.  I tried to keep up with both of them and sent money when I could from my small stipend for living expenses.  By the late 1990's, I completely lost all contact with Uncle Walter and George.  To be brutally honest, I didn't make that much of an effort to find them at the time.  I was caught up in my own rigors of surviving medical school, general surgical residency, specialized cardiothoracic training, and one last year in a heart / lung transplant fellowship program.  I didn't start my first real paying job until I was 36 years old. [details based on HH p. 46-61].  At that point, Uncle Walter and George were nowhere to be found.

I found out about his death only recently after returning from spending time working at a free clinic in Africa.  I had lots of time to think and reflect on my life late at night when I wasn't operating on patients under extremely trying circumstances.  Revisiting my childhood memories that I had locked away long ago, I recommitted myself to finding Uncle Walter and George again when I returned to the United States.  I looked up someone from back in my Johns Hopkins days who was well-connected with all the major players in D.C.  It didn't take long for my 'deep throat' source to find out what happened to Uncle Walter.  Apparently he died over ten years ago and a White House staffer made arrangements for his burial at Arlington. My source also had a lead on George and was planning to follow-up on it with me next week.  Eventually, I came back to the present and realized that Toby was patiently waiting for me to finish wrestling with my thoughts.

"Um, well, I just wanted you to know in person how much I appreciated your kindness.  Guess I should be going now as I don't want to take up any more of your time."

I got up to leave and Toby gently put his hand on my shoulder indicating that he wanted me to stay.

"Erica, I happen to be traveling to D.C. for a late afternoon meeting with my co-author at Georgetown to go over the galley proof of our new book.  If you would care to join me on the train, I could take you first to see your uncle's grave if you like."

I was stunned and speechless.  What sort of person extends himself in such a way for a total stranger?

It was all just too much for me to process.  I found myself lost in a wilderness of emotions with tears streaming down my face.  Toby gestured to the box of tissues on the table and waited patiently for me to compose myself.

When I finally spoke, I was surprised that I heard myself say "ok" and off we went together to Penn Station.

~~~~~

The train trip was soothing and settled my jumbled mind.  Eventually I asked for some more details about the funeral and was heartened to know that there were four mourners in attendance.  Toby and George were joined by a former presidential secretary named Mrs. Landingham and a good friend who was close to my uncle at the end.

Once my demeanor started to brighten slightly, Toby shared some startling news with me.

"You should know that a year after your Uncle Walter died, I pulled some more strings and got George placed in a nice residential facility.  He is living near Arlington now and I take him to visit Walter's grave regularly."

Toby then took out his phone and gave me contact information for George.  I was taken aback that this soulful man had kept in touch with him all these years.  I found myself again overcome with emotions and started to cry.  So strange, as my whole life I have consciously donned what I refer to as my full-metal jacket to keep my emotions in check.  This surprising sequence of events caused me to reflect and rethink that approach.

 ** _My full-metal jacke_ t _was unique to me.  It fit me perfectly because I had constructed it inch by inch.  Tailored, if you will, to conform to my exact shape.  Made of mithril, when I wore it, I was impervious to pain.  My pain.  My patient's pain.  The pain of the world around me.  I could take on any challenge without fear of being harmed - I felt nothing.  Emotionally, spiritually, psychologically.  It made me so tough.  It allowed me to survive.  The problem was that when I wore this jacket, no one could get close to me.  Not my colleagues.  Not my patients.  It was as if I had a force field around me, and I liked it that way._** [HH P. 47-48]

~~~~~

After the train pulled into Union Station, I stopped at a vendor with the intention of buying some flowers but instead something else caught my eye.  It was a small simple American flag and as Uncle Walter was a patriot above all else this seemed a more appropriate tribute.

Toby and I then traveled by Metro to Arlington National Cemetery.  We walked in silence to section 43 passing seemingly endless rows of tombstones.  On our way, we passed by a proper distance away from an honor guard funeral in progress.  The sound of rifles during the three volley salute made us both involuntarily recoil. 

When we reached Uncle Walter's tombstone, Toby left me a few private moments to pay my respects. 

I kneeled down and softly traced his name on the cold marble.  Tears again flowed as I asked for forgiveness for not being there for him when he needed me most.  A bird flew by and it felt as if it was a sign, as Uncle Walter always enjoyed the birds back on the farm.  It seemed to me that he was at peace here in his final resting place. 

As I began to step away, Toby gently took my arm and we walked back to the Metro station together in silence.  We traveled one stop on the blue line to Rosslyn and then took a short walk over to the residential care facility. 

~~~~~

When we arrived at his room, George's face lit up when he saw Toby and it was the first hint of a smile I had seen all day on Toby's face as well.  George then recognized me and came running over for a long lost hug.  It was as if it was old times again.  I looked around the room and noticed the carefully folded flag mounted inside plexiglass with _Walter Huffnagel, Lance Corporal, United States Marines_ engraved on the case.  I touched the case very gently and almost welled up again but finally got a hold of myself.  Crying four times in one day was too much, even with my new loosened full-metal jacket and all.

Toby excused himself to head over to his meeting at The Hill.  I walked him to the hallway and suggested that we meet again later that evening at Union Station to take the train home together.  There was something strangely comforting about having him near me and I didn't want our new found connection to end just yet.  I still had many questions about the man and his bookshelves alone should make for intriguing train conversation.

~~~~~

We met at 7 pm for drinks in Union Station before our 8 pm train.  After a few glasses of wine, Toby opened up about his time in the White House and alluded to his abrupt departure under questionable circumstances.  I didn't pry and told him that I understood full well as I left a hospital in Seattle as a result of a similar ethical conflict.

We were quiet again for a few moments, lost in our own respective thoughts.  I then became mildly amused when I realized that anyone looking over at us might think we were acting like a long standing married couple.  I shook that thought out of my head and decided to change the subject to ask about his new book under development.  

Toby became animated when he talked about his book and he launched into a scholarly discussion about his discovery of a possible typo in the original Constitution.  His co-author, a professor of constitutional law, was convinced that his findings might shake up the conventional interpretation of the Takings Clause of the Fifth Amendment.  I had to admit that my knowledge of the Constitution was a bit thin but I promised to reread it again soon to carefully study the meaning of this sentence in question.

The conversation between us flowed as free and easy as the wine.  Soon we boarded the train, each of us with a nice buzz and in the mood for more friendly conversation.  Strange as I'm usually not one for small talk and Toby struck me as a reserved sort himself. He asked me many probing questions about my work in Africa.  Ultimately, he confided in me that it was a dream of his as young man to join the Peace Corps but somehow he ended up in politics instead.  We both sighed and then were quiet for a few moments thinking about things left undone at this stage in our lives.

When we took up the conversation again, Toby asked about my career as a cardiothoracic surgeon.  He was surprisingly well-informed about the limited number of women practicing in this field.  I soon found myself passionately railing against the gross inequities in the treatment of women's heart disease in the US.  I gave him some statistics about how heart disease was the leading killer of women and kills more than all forms of cancer combined.  Couldn't help but notice a look of deep concentration on his face, it was so nice to be really heard for once, as I'm usually the one doing most of the listening in these sorts of interactions.

Time went by so quickly that before I knew it we were pulling into Penn Station again.  Toby offered to walk me back to my hotel as I was staying in town to meet with a few wealthy benefactors tomorrow on behalf of the clinic.  We shared a brief hug when he said goodnight.  There was a quiet pause and then he ever so lightly kissed me on the cheek and got shy and a bit flustered as he quickly headed for the lobby.  So sweet but not sure what to make of this, with seeing leaves and all, this chance encounter left me feeling a bit bewildered. I decided not to over think it for once. 

~~~~~

I felt peaceful for the first time in many years.  It was as if a large burden had lifted as a result of the closure I reached surrounding Uncle Walter's death.  Reconnecting with George also left me feeling much more complete, like a missing piece of a puzzle that was found again. 

Before going to sleep, I left a message for my contact about the visit to Uncle Walter's grave and my success in locating George.  After hanging up the phone, I made plans to return to D.C. next week to express my gratitude in person. This time, I decided to book a nice hotel for a few days so I could spend more time with George.  Perhaps he would enjoy visiting the National Zoo as he always loved animals back on the farm.  Maybe I'll even have the luxury of leisurely strolling through the Smithsonian and going out to dinner at some fine D.C. restaurants while I'm in town. 

Oh, it is so wonderful to finally not be on call for once in my life.  I vowed to enjoy being a 'civilian' and bask in my new found freedom for a while.

 

 _**Purple Heart** _

 


End file.
